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Potters Are Hot

Then again, everyone was hot. Potters are apparently also shy.

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My Hands Smell Like Basil

Lisa always seems to forget that we have a few herbs in the back garden. As I was supplementing her sauce-from-a-jar I said that I am jealous of Paul’s Mom’s vegetable garden with tomatoes and a forest of pepper plants (don’t tell them who ate all the spicy sweet pickle slices, holy fucking delicious). Anyway, Lisa said that next year I could probably dig up more of the yard to claim my own space, and I casually mentioned that I might not be here next year.

I’m a little sad that I didn’t join Paul’s Party Pad as the eigth and oldest Power Ranger, heretofore to be referred to as the Den Mother, or just Mom, but I’m not sure that spending six months or a year living with 22 year olds would really improve my social standing. Nonetheless, it was an opportunity to revel in adolescence.

It was only three or four years ago that I had thought to myself that I would be looking at houses “in a few months.” Then, life went tits up.

I must be slipping, I only took 120 pictures at the art thing.

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Time to ROCK!

Apparently, Cake Woman got too much sun at the Uptown Art Fair thing yesterday and spent the night throwing up. I plan to stay hydrated. I might also see about seeing a Fringe Festival show tonight. Apparently the woman who tells the yoni story is in one, and how could I miss that? Otherwise, later this week.

I will be calling Gerg to see if he remembers expressing some interest in the fair, otherwise I will be wandering the streets of Uptown by my lonesome.

Blow up my celly if you wants to hookZ up, yo.

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Don’t Hit Me In The Face With Your Balls!

This is a weird game.

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Merry… Christmas?

At some point in the night we played out own version of Bacchi ball, where everyone throws at once, and the tiny ball was marked by this snowman. The best part was seeing the snowman fly up into the air. I had no idea who was on my “team,” but it was super fun and stuff.

At some point I just clocked the snowman in the head with a ball. I don’t think that you’re supposed to throw overhanded. Ahem.

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That Boat Is For Sale, But Does Happiness Come With It?

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